Unfortunate Vengeance
by Bright Green Eyes
Summary: Voldemort has finally met his match.
1. Prologue

_My only love sprung from my only hate!_

_Too early seen unknown, and known too late!_

_Prodigious birth of love it is to me,_

_That I must love a loathed enemy._

- William Shakespeare, Act I, Scene V, Romeo and Juliet

**PROLOGUE**

The very bright home of Harry James Potter was illuminated ahead of the cobble-stoned path, like a beacon of pure, white hope, glowing in the distance. But she had expected nothing less than that from the Boy-Who-Lived. The child, whose heartache would have destroyed a lesser man And now that man who lived at home, nineteen years after the Dark Lord's defeat, with his wife and three children.

It seemed such a happy place, and it probably was this Christmas. The outline of laughing forms echoed through the windows as she trudged through the snow and towards the front door. The wide window, displayed with thick, burgundy curtains that were styled in an elegant grace, held images of a very large gathering.

It was now or never, she told herself. With those words in mind, she drew herself up to her full, un-impressing height and knocked. The golden lion knockers fell upon the mahogany wood once more before the air sounded empty again. For a moment, she considered running away, but her bones were old now. She couldn't exactly run as far as she'd once been able to.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door and it pulled open to reveal a small middle-aged woman with long flaming red hair, the woman who she knew as Ginny Weasley. The Lady of the house. Or perhaps that was too old of a phrase.

"Hello?" Ginny asked kindly, her light eyes straining to see into the darkness of the night.

The woman stepped into the shadow of firelight that was flooding from the foyer. "Hello," she said, letting a half smile grace her lips. "I'm here to see Harry Potter. I promise it won't be long."

Ginny looked skeptical, her auburn eyebrows shooting up into the air in obvious irritation. A small part of her, a very small part of her felt slightly guilty for ruining their cheerful Christmas, but it was all for "the greater good".

"Gin!" A deep voice echoed throughout the halls. "Ginny?" The man who she could have guessed was Harry Potter, filled the doorway. His untidy black hair fell in a mop around his spectacles, covering his lightning bolt-shaped scar given to him by Lord Voldemort.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she said, the half-grin returning again. "I don't mean to intrude on your Christmas, but I have to speak with you. It's rather important, and I'm afraid it cannot wait."

The sentence had hung in the air for a few moments before he waved her inside, carefully watching her as she gracefully hobbled towards the drawing room Ginny had suggested she take a seat in.

A raucous burst of laughter echoed from the living room and a man with bright orange hair, that seemed to be thinning just a bit came through, his laughter still lighting up his face.

"Oh! Sorry, Harry. Didn't quite see you there…" His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the cloaked woman standing the foyer. His eyes widened and he struggled to regain his composure, suddenly feeling very off-balance.

She seemed to exude the feeling of calamity everywhere she went these days. It was a talent of hers, to make people uncomfortable. Now, anyways. She had spent the last seventeen years, her only seventeen years with her uncle. But that hadn't made up for the fact that Lord Voldemort had murdered her father, nineteen years previous. And the rest of her family.

The drawing room was a large space, a few desks scattered with random papers and ink and a quill. There were even a few portraits, the wizards moving and laughing exuberantly, their bright smiles lighting up the room.

Harry gestured for her to sit in the comfy chintz armchair that looked as if it belonged in a certain Hogwarts common room. For the third time that night, a half smile split across her face. But this time, unlike the two others, it was tainted with a sadness that couldn't be explained in a few short hours.

There was another man in the room, his forlorn figure was hunched over in the corner desk and he was scribbling furiously on an already long letter. "George," Harry greeted, his voice a little darker now.

"Harry," George replied, running a hand through his fading red hair. The last nineteen years had taken a lot out of George. With the death of his twin his life had taken on a desolate existence. But it had gotten better over the years, he had married and named his first son Fred in remembrance of his brother, but there was still that part of him that ached deeply.

And that was precisely why she was here. To make everything better by getting her revenge. "You said you had a proposition?" Harry said finally, taking a seat on the chair across from her. His green eyes sparkled in a familiar way.

"I do." She nodded, slipping off the hood of her cloak. The oddly dark color of her hair, fell around her shoulders. She saw his eyes widen in shock as he took in her appearance. And what an appearance it was. "I…" she didn't know how to begin. There was just too much to say to him, just too much to get out.

"My name is Marie Adamms," she said, finally beginning. George made to stand up, but she waves him back in his seat, impatiently. "This concerns more than just you, Mr. Potter." She took another deep breath and began again. "My name is Marie Adamms. And I want to change the past."

_A/N: If this is actually posted, then I made it through the first chapter. And someone actually read the Prologue. Which in the world of Harry Potter Fanfiction is a shock. _

_This story has twists… lots of them. _


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: If this is actually posted, then I made it through the first chapter. And someone actually read the Prologue. Which in the world of Harry Potter Fanfiction is a shock. _

_This story has twists… lots of them. _

"_My name is Marie Adamms," she said, finally beginning. George made to stand up, but she waves him back in his seat, impatiently. "This concerns more than just you, Mr. Potter." She took another deep breath and began again. "My name is Marie Adamms. And I want to change the past." _

**Chapter One**

Over the past twenty-four hours the home of Harry Potter had been thrown into a mad uproar. And most of it had been Marie's fault. Harry had shot back in his chair, stunned when she admitted to wanting to change the history. His eyebrows rose in question as he shot a significant look to Ginny and George.

"And why, would you want to do that," he asked warily, straightening up a little bit and staring at her over his glasses. He seemed t be under the impression that she was senile.

"I just want… to change my family's history." There was a collective silence in the room before Harry said:

"Go on…"

"I should really start at the beginning." Marie sighed, her fingers absently tracing the contours of the gold ring on her middle fingers. Her Uncle had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, and she had been overjoyed. It had never come off of her hand since.

"My father's family was killed before I was born. All of it was by Voldemort." She looked off into the distance, and caught her reflection in the glossy, snowy window. She looked much older than last time, especially since she had learned her Uncle's involvement with the Dark Lord.

"That I have accepted. I understand their deaths… but in the past few months since I have graduated I've learned things. About my family." She leaned forwards, her ash colored hair falling into paleness of her face. "My Uncle was a Death Eater."

There was no gasp of surprise from them, and she hadn't expected one. It was only a shock to her, the memory of it all still gnawing on the inside. "To understand properly, I have to tell you that my Uncle was not a Muggle-hater or a man who wished anyone else harm. Or so I thought. I believed he was perfect. That was until I… found letters. Correspondences to fellow and well-known Death Eaters. And when he was buried, I saw his dark mark.

"He was the one who murdered my father. And countless others. And after my mother died he was the one who raised me---." She broke off, swallowing quickly, tears burning in the back of her eyes. The pain was still raw, and so was the anger. Though she doubted that that would ever go away.

"He was older than my mother, almost twenty years, and she was older when she decided to have children as well. He went to school with the young Voldemort. And I want to kill them both. To stop them for good."

This time there was a shocked silence. Harry had sat up, if possibly, straighter. And George had leaned forwards in keen interest. Ginny seemed to be the only one who didn't change in expression. And if the rumors told about her were correct, then she understood Marie's need completely.

"You… you want to kill… your Uncle?" Harry said, his voice thick with incredulity. He took off his glasses, polishing them on his shirt, and then replaced them back on the bridge of his nose. He seemed much older than she had expected. Tales of Harry Potter's conquest and defeat over the Dark Lord was well known, even nineteen years after the fact. "And Voldemort? That's absolutely ludicrous!"

"Yes, I know." She couldn't express the betrayl she had felt upon seeing the dark mark on her Uncle's body. It sounded irrational to everyone else, but her. Only she knew the pain/ "I had the chance to speak to some… professors about my uncle. And they confided that they were shocked that I hadn't become a servant of the Dark Arts like my Uncle. I believe if I can save my Uncle… that the death of young Voldemort would change… everything."

"That still wouldn't change who your Uncle was," he pointed out, his eyes trained directly on her.

"I believe, sir, that my Uncle was seduced by the pull of belonging to something bigger. Something that had a cause, making him has a cause. If I'm wrong… then there is no loss to you. Only to me."

"You plan to _stop_ Voldemort… in his past?" A woman's voice said, her haughty tone carrying through the room. Marie jumped, startled to not have heard the woman who she knew as Hermione Granger, standing stiffly in the doorway.

It was an odd thing to be standing in the presence of one of the greatest witches of all time. Hermione Granger, the women next in line to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Yes," Marie said, trying to keep her voice strong. It was difficult to remain calm under that hard-eyed stare.

"If… you want to do this…" Harry said, his voice giving off the tone of a father now explaining to his child that they were wrong. "Then why did you come here? To ask us permission?"

"It will affect your life most greatly. If I succeed in… killing Voldemort then your---all of your lives---will change. Drastically."

"My life is what it is. I've accepted that."

She nodded. She had already prepared herself for this argument. "But what about the others? Your Godson Ted? The murders of the families who have had survivors that haven't moved on like you? If Voldemort never rises to power, he'll never kill or lead other to kill those people. The Wizarding community as we know it would have never been in shambles."

"Some things can never be changed!" Harry stressed, rubbing his temples for they had now taken on the familiar pounding they did whenever he was faced with a moral dilemma.

"I came here tonight, not to get your permission, but your blessing. This could change everything, as we know. Something's can never be changed. But this… this is one of them that can. If I fail, then everything remains the same. And the only people who have endangered themselves are I. And I am perfectly willing to take that risk."

Her tawny eyes blazed with an inner fire that burned her insides. She could get revenge; all she needed was the last ingredient. She could do this. And she was prepared to fail as well. Prepared for death.

Silence filled the spaces and caverns in the drawing room. The only sound was the light tinkling laughter of the people in the next room. This Harry Potter was a happy man, but she could make every one else happy as well. There were witches and wizards who were still afraid, and she could cease that fear.

"What do you need?" Marie's breath hitched. Here came the moment of truth.

"A grant to make the Draught of Time." No one in the room said anything or made any moments of recognition, but Hermione. The woman's breath sucked in so sharply that she almost whistled.

"That's… illegal!"

"I know. But I need to do this… please…"

And so they had agreed to let her travel back into the past by the means of the hardest potion to brew known to wizard. Hermione, with the help of a still nervous Harry, secured the grant from the minister to brew the potion. It took several explanations on her part to the Minister and several others people who were supposedly trust worthy.

By Saturday night the plan had been reviewed about a hundred times and run past about a hundred people. It had taken a while, and while Marie had mentally prepared herself, when she entered the Potter's home, her nerves stood on end.

The woody scent of the potion wafted into foyer. It wasn't a bad smell, but it made her slightly uncomfortable. Maybe, it was because she was having second thoughts about this. Maybe…

Marie shook her head, clearing it of all unnecessary thought. There was no going back now. She had a plan. And she had partially convinced the ministry to help her, even though it was a backwater project that no one was supposed to know about. If this broke out to the public, there would be hell to pay for the Ministry.

At first, she hadn't wanted the Ministry involved. She wanted this to be as legal as possible. But if the certain ingredient of a drop of Basilisk venom hadn't been withheld from the public, even the Black Market side of things, then she wouldn't have had to go to Harry Potter in the first place. But she wasn't going to tell them that.

And so it was with her hair standing on end and her heart beating through her chest that she stepped through the door into the drawing room. A thick pewter cauldron stood in the center. The sluggish bubbling it was emitting made her stomach turn as she looked over into the violently purple potion.

"That should do it," Hermione said softly, her sharp eyes softening a bit as she noticed Marie's nervousness. "Don't worry… I think I've made it correctly. If not…" She didn't have to say the rest. Marie completely understood.

Harry entered the room, his Wizarding robes flowing around his body when he moved towards the potion, which had turned the deepest shade of blue. He grabbed a silver goblet and dipped it into the simmering potion. The silver glowed slightly as he held it out for Marie to take.

For the first time since formulating this plan, she hesitated. Was this really what she was planning to do? Was she really going to go back in time to prevent Voldemort from rising to power? Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort. Over the last few days she had learned all there was to know about Tom Riddle. Every piece of information she and Harry had gathered. And in turn she had searched through her Uncle's letters and plans.

She was going back to be a Seventh year. Her house would probably remain the same, but she wasn't sure. She had already worked out the plan with Hermione several times. Marie was going to pose as a student whose parents had educated her by themselves until their untimely deaths. Home education wasn't all that unpopular after the war of good and evil with Grindewald. Parents, then, still feared that their children would be attacked at any moment. She would be sorted into her house when she arrived in Armando Dippet's office in exactly one hour. Or, one hour and sixty-three years in the past.

The one issue she was going to have, well besides dealing with Tom Riddle and his followers, would be giving the letter she and Hermione had carefully scripted from her "parents" stating their last wishes were to have her go to a formal school, such as Hogwarts. Her whole entire plan hinged on that.

Marie's hand trembled as she took it… her fingers clasping over the silver handle. This was for her father… who her Uncle, her beloved Uncle, had murdered. And only because he had been a muggle. All of this was because her mother had loved someone who was non-magical.

"Thank you," she whispered, nodding in both their directions. Hermione's lips were thin, just in perfect imitation of McGonagall's when she was angry. They both watched as Marie lifted the cup to her lips.

"You can't come back," Hermione burst out. Here eyes were wide with fear as she watched Marie smile sadly and take a sip, then two, before draining the rest of the potion.

The last thing she saw was Hermione and Harry's grim expressions as she felt something jerk her body backwards, as if a hook had caught around not only her navel but also her whole entire body. It felt slightly like a port key, but different somehow.

And then she began to spin… very fast until she felt like vomiting. And then everything turned dark.

"Yes… Ms. Adamms," Headmaster Armando Dippet said, his voice tight the indecisiveness on his face making him look like a very confused child. "I… understand that, but it strikes me as odd that your parents would just leave you -"

"My grandfather went to Hogwarts, it was important to him that I… be educated here. My mother and father didn't want me to come due to their fear of Dark Sorcery. And then after Grindewald, definitely not. But after his death they decided that if anything should happen to them… they wanted me to fulfill his last dream."

She was laying it on too thick. That much Marie knew. But in the presence of Headmaster Dippet, she was willing to try anything. And if one thing she had learned from the records she had read through, it was that she must play to his vanity. And Hogwarts was his weakness.

_Pride is such an arrogant thing_, she thought, watching as Dippet reviewed the letter once more, shuffling the papers in a sign of obvious unease. This was going directly against his protocol, had there ever been a transfer into Hogwarts before? Marie supposed not.

"Despite your Grandfather's wishes. The question still remains, will you be able to cope with the course work?"

"Yes, sir." He sighed, obviously rereading her essay on the properties of Moonstone she had written in the sixth year. Hermione had though it best that she provide some of her own work to prove the she was educated. With a few minor changes to the styling of her words it was flawless. Marie's best piece of work, even though she had been a fairly average student.

"I admit this is quite impressive for a sixth year. You say your parents made you write this in order to pass their standard form of examination?" He looked up over his glasses; the frizzy gray hair sticking up in all directions was still squashed underneath his black Wizarding hat.

"Yes, sir."

It was several more moments before he sighed again, the sound of acceptance. Marie's nerve endings tingled as she fought the smile rising to her lips. The plan was going so smoothly… all she had to do now was get, kill Tom Riddle and then find someway back to the future.

Even as she thought the words _kill Tom Riddle_ her stomach gave a feeble little lurch. She had never committed murder before. Or even a crime that was much more than sneaking out of her dorms late at night to sneak food. Panic flared in her gut as she watched Dippet stand and take the Sorting Hat down from its perch atop the highest shelf behind the desk.

Could she really kill Tom Riddle? Well… it was a little too late to be having second thoughts about this. Now of all times, when the plan formulates with Hermione, Harry and various others had been executed flawlessly so far.

Her stomach heartbeat sped up, the frantic_ bah-boom; bah-boom_ was beginning to fill her ears as she drowned in hysteria. _You can't go back now… you've come to far_, she chastised herself, trying to regain a smidgen of control over her heartbeat.

It wasn't enough. Only when the Headmaster coughed loudly into a handkerchief and sat the frayed, Sorting Hat down in front of her, did the full sense of reality come seeping back into her mind like slow, poisonous ooze.

"Ms. Adamms, if you will."

She glanced up, the sound of her blood still roaring through her ears. He was waiting for her, his pleasant smile still tacked neatly onto his face, but those eyes looked tense as if he was waiting for her to fail.

Marie breathed deeply; the aroma of the start of term feast began to waft up through the office. And it was then she realized that she was holding up the feast. It was with another pang of guilt that she gently took the Sorting Hat and placed it atop her head.

It awoke, or that was the only way she could describe the buzzing that had filled her ears. She waited patiently for it to assess all of her talents, her weaknesses and then place her in her house. Gryffindor, like it had always been.

Marie had never considered herself brave and she had suspected the reason she was placed in Gryffindor was because of the long line of family members who had been in the very same house. Her mother had been in Gryffindor, her grandfather. Even her cheating, lying, twisted man who she had looked up to like a father figure for years had belonged to that house.

Of course, she had had her courageous moments. When she had finally decided to ask Eric Davies to go with her on a Hogsmeade weekend trip. But she had done nothing spectacular. She'd had slightly above average grades, being better than most in Charms and Potions. There was nothing special that stood out about her. And so it came as a great shock when the mouth at the hat's brim opened wide and shouted.

"SLYTHERIN!"

_A/N: Things will pick up, I promise. Next chapter you get to meet Tom. And I would like to keep him as in character as possible, so he may be a bit cruel. Until I dig a bit deeper. I've always been convinced that he would have been better with a girl… maybe not –grins-_


	3. Chapter 2

_Of course, she had had her courageous moments. When she had finally decided to ask Eric Davies to go with her on a Hogsmeade weekend trip. But she had done nothing spectacular. She'd had slightly above average grades, being better than most in Charms and Potions. There was nothing special that stood out about her. And so it came as a great shock when the mouth at the hat's brim opened wide and shouted._

_"SLYTHERIN!"_

**Chapter Two**

As Marie made her way down to the Great Hall, Dippet walking alongside her, shooting furtive questions about her parentage in her direction. Marie was completely numb. The reality of it all hadn't seemed to hit quite yet.

_Slytherin! SLYTHERIN! I can't be a bloody Slytherin!_

Her mind was in turmoil throughout the whole entire walk. She was barely able to answer Dippet's questions with coherent sentences. All that she seemed to comprehend was… that she was a Slytherin. She now belonged in the House of Snakes.

Well that wasn't the most comforting thought.

The smell of the feast wafted into the Entrance Hall and for the first time in several hours Marie recognized her hunger. She'd been too nervous to eat even a truffle earlier. But seeing as she wasn't dead… yet, there was time to enjoy the opening feast. They'd always had the best food at the start of term.

"This is where I leave you," Dippet said, with an anxious smile. She could tell that he was more than ready to rid himself of her presence. It was one of Marie's better charms, making people nervous to be around her. "I hope you enjoy the feast. And I'll write to Diagon Alley for your things with the gold you've given me. For now, I believe the professors will be more than happy to oblige you."

With a curt nod, he disappeared into the Great Hall, the sound of laughter and animated chatter coming in through the opening. _Now or never…_ She took another deep breath to steady herself and then entered, managing to sneak through the closing door.

No one even glanced in her direction as she sidled over to the opposite end of the hall; her black robes were the only ones who didn't show a representation of a certain house. Marie sat, her eyes darting down towards the end of the table. She was at least ten places away from a single person. And for once the thought of solitude actually entertained her.

The food hadn't appeared yet. And just as her stomach gave a growl of hunger did the wide entrance doors fly open and the first years enter. She craned her neck to get a good look at the newest class of witches and wizards. They were all tiny little things; she hadn't ever been that small. Had she?

"Welcome," Dippet said in a much higher voice than he had used in his office. It seemed as if he was stressed by trying to keep all the students under control. "Welcome first years and welcome back returning students! I'd like to remind you all that our caretaker has posted a list of items banned in the castle on his office door. And also that the forest is out of bounds to all students, new and old." He glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table, clearly meaning the clump of students that weren't paying attention to his speech. He rattled on about other various things business before he finally let the sorting begin. The line of first years was unusually small and it dwindled fast until the only boy "Winbee, Thomas," was sorted in to Gryffindor.

As she watched him move towards the Gryffindor table, the obvious look of relief etched onto his small, skinny face, she felt a pang of envy. _That was my house… and now it… isn't._

With a grimace she waited for the food to appear. To her stomach's delight it didn't take long for Dippet to give a few short words and then for the food to become visible to the eager students.

The feast was the same, as always, _at least that hadn't changed_, she thought miserably, grabbing at another piece of ham. The wondrous affect of being alone had worn off and despite her mainly introverted nature; she was beginning to get lonely. She had gulped down her food, a little relieved to be able to eat ravenously without people watching her in disgust. Even if people were sitting on all sides.

It wouldn't be soon until the students of Hogwarts knew all about her. By tomorrow morning when classes would begin, rumors would flit around like wildfire. She didn't want their attention; she didn't want to hear their accumulated gossip about whom she was and what she was going in school so late. Marie had planned to tell them the truth that her parents had taught her throughout childhood and then after their deaths she was fulfilling their last wish and now attended Hogwarts. No one would think anything of that.

Dippet stood again, ready to make more important speeches and a few last minute notes, like the Quidditch team and other such matters. But Marie tuned him out, taking out her wand and began turning it between her forefingers. That was another thing that seemed to make people a little uncomfortable. The way she stared at something, that deadly serious glare on her face, with her wand rotating around her pale fingers. Odd and Suspicious as some liked to call it.

The familiar loud, scraping sound echoed throughout the hall, and Marie started, jerking upright, and staring around the Great Hall. The students were moving towards their common rooms. And for the first time she realized that she had no idea where the Slytherin common room was.

Panic filling her lungs she moved, following a group of fifth year, Slytherin girls down through a corridor that led into the dungeons. _The dungeons?_ It made sense that the house of snakes would live in _dungeons_. But she didn't have to like it. Already Marie was beginning to miss the comfy chintz armchairs of the Gryffindor common room.

The girls giggled, and stopped in front of a patch of plain stonewall before muttering something intelligible. The wall slid open in front of them and they stumbled inside. Marie raced forwards, their constant giggling had jumbled the password and if she could just get inside---.

No luck. The wall slid back in place and she let out a furious sigh. She would just have to wait until someone else came and gave her the password. Otherwise she'd end up sleeping the night out in the hall. For a moment, Marie entertained the idea of staying in the damp, gray corridor. It beat being with the… _Slytherins_.

It was several minutes before she heard footsteps again and faint laughter coming from the other end. Marie stiffened as a group of five or six students entered, their voices louder as if they were unafraid to be heard.

"Nice bit of magic there, my lord," said a dark haired boy, his eyes trained on a much taller boy off to the side of the group. Marie froze, her eyes immediately flicking to the younger Voldemort. Or Tom Riddle as he was now. Her stomach gave a giant lurch as she studied the very handsome boy who was supposed to be the Dark Lord. He was tall, his dark hair falling in his eyes but it was still neatly kempt. And those eyes, she thought, jerking away from the thought, they were a dark gray, flashing at the mention of his magical triumph over some poor victim.

"He went squealing like a pig to his common room, the great, ugly---." He broke off; finally noticing Marie standing in the corridor, just in front of the blank stonewalls.

She felt six pairs of eyes all staring directly at her, and her face burned. But she managed to stare them all in the eyes at least once before asking, "I wasn't given the password."

For a moment they looked ready to pounce upon her, until another asked, this time a pinch faced girl, "And who are you?"

"Marie Adamms, I've just come to Hogwarts." She kept her answers short, staring deliberately past the girls shoulder. She wouldn't look down at the floor; her pride would suffer to that.

"You don't look like a first year," said another of the large group. Marie glanced around for who was speaking but couldn't see him.

"I'm not. Seventh actually, I was educated elsewhere before."

There was a silence to this before Tom Riddle stepped forwards, and giving her the slightest of glances, said "Polyjuice," In a bored tone. The stonewall slid open again and he stepped inside, his cronies following. All giving Marie dark glares before disappearing inside.

This time Marie followed behind, quick to escape the group. They all stopped to kick a few second years out of the armchairs surrounding fires, laughing again and Marie stopped. This was the group of future Death Eaters; she recognized a few from the wanted posters her Uncle had kept in his study. He was a bit of a historian and as a young child they had fascinated her.

There was Mulciber, Rosier, Knott, Avery, and several others she knew to be the ringleaders of the Death Eaters. It was almost comical, watching them from her secluded corner, all chatting as if they hadn't a care in the world. While Voldemort---Tom Riddle sat there, twirling his wand between his long, pale fingers, surveying the rest of the room with keen interest.

So that was why it made others uncomfortable, Marie noted. Watching him continue to flip the wand in his hands. It had reminded them of the Dark Arts. And of a time where terror had reined, Voldemort had reined. Possibly, she had reminded them of Voldemort himself.

It was true; Marie did possess a good amount of power. She had her specialties in Potions and a few other areas, but that was all. She had had no affinity for Defense Against the Dark Arts, sure she had gotten an Exceeds Expectations, but that was only because her best friend, Emily Blasé, was an extreme studier. And she was just about hopeless at Transfiguration, among other things.

Marie sighed, thinking of all things she had left behind and all the things she had yet to do. It seemed, for a moment, like a hopeless situation. There was no way that she was going to be able to kill Voldemort. In the past she hadn't even been able to end the suffering of an injured bird. Resolutely she would have to kill him, she would have to start a new life for herself in 1944, and she would start with finding her new dorms.

The 7th year girl's dormitories were the last space down the long, winding, stone hallway. It was a nice place, with a thick, emerald green rug carpeting the floor, the emblem of the Slytherin House was woven into the center. It was just like the rest of the Dormitories, surprisingly cozy, for the house that has produced more Dark Wizards than any other.

There were only five four poster beds, one in which was empty and her trunks she had left with Dippet were on the left side. She was the closest to water jug, which was a nice change. Marie moved towards her four-poster, the dark green hangings stirring as she brushed past.

And then she stopped, staring at the chair that was sitting next to her bed, the chair that held her new Slytherin scarf, tie, and pin. There it went, the last real shred of disbelief, slipping away. She was a Slytherin now, no longer a Gryffindor, but a member of the most feared house. And… how ironic it was. That she ended up in Slytherin this time around when she was trying to kill one of its most famous occupants.

"Irony, indeed," she murmured to herself, picking up the small pin that had a green and white snake in the center. Absent mindedly, she traced the details of the silver piece of metal, wondering how much she had to have changed to become a member of Slytherin.

"Oh!" A shocked voice said behind her. Marie jumped, turning to see one of the girls she had earlier mistaken as a fifth year, standing inside the room. "Sorry!" She bustled over towards her bed, her stringy blonde hair swinging in her face. She picked up her trunk and began rifling through it before stopping, pulling out a blank piece of parchment out.

"I'm Zelda March," the girl introduced herself as she sat on her bed, scribbling something on the paper, before folding it up again. Zelda looked up, her blue eyes wide with interest as she surveyed Marie.

She seemed almost… innocent, Marie thought, smiling back at the girl. But there was an almost furious glint in her eyes that seemed to disprove her first glance spotlessness.

"Marie Adamms." She said lightly, smiling gently again, still clutching the pin tightly in her fist.

"Are you new?" _Well, she gets right into it, doesn't she…_ Marie noted, surreptitiously raising one of her eyebrows.

"Yes. I was educated elsewhere before." She tried to keep her voice clear of emotion, suspecting that Zelda would jump at the chance to exploit any weakness Marie gave.

"Where?"

Marie hesitated, and Zelda tilted her head sideways giving her an encouraging smile. "My parents. They were a bit---paranoid, about Grindewald." Zelda nodded, understanding immediately.

"Yeah, my mum and dad didn't really want my brother and I to come here too, but my Aunt convinced them otherwise." She gave Marie a conspiratorial glance before bouncing to her feet again. "It all turned out for the best in the end though." She winked, and began striding out of the room, a haughty tone to her walk. "Well, see you tomorrow, Marie."

Marie nodded in response, her throat closing on her words of goodbye. Zelda was an odd creature, a gossiper if her instincts were correct, and possibly a good ally to have in this place. But not someone she could deal with easily if push came to shove, rank wise. Power, however… that may be a different matter.

"Oh, Marie?" She started again, blinking in surprise as Zelda entered again. "What are you?"

Her stomach dropped and her heart seemed to jump in her throat, beating overtime under Zelda's accusatory stare. "Excuse, me?"

"What are you? Pureblood? Half?" Her lips curled and those almost crystal clue eyes darkened as she said the words "Muggle-born?"

"Pure," Marie answered immediately, clenching her shaking hands as the lie spilt out of her mouth with so much ease that she vaguely wondered if Slytherin wasn't such a bad place for her after all.

Zelda looked appeased and she gave Marie a jovial wave before disappearing again. A deep breath of relief whooshed out of her lungs as she sat, bent double, on the edge of her bed. This was going to be so much harder than she had originally expected. What had made her so naïve to think that she could kill Voldemort? That she could deal with living in a completely different time, with completely different people, in a completely different world. One that was before the rein of terror that, now, one of her fellow Slytherins was the cause of.

She stood abruptly; gliding out of the form before it's insides could suffocate her any longer. Hogwarts had become such a depressing place. The happy halls of students, laughing had become the personal rule of Voldemort. What had she been thinking?

Marie paced down the stone corridor into the Common room and then out of the House's quarters all together. No one had seemed to notice, which was good. She needed a break. And it was only the first day. She was going for a very long walk.

By the time Marie re-entered the Slytherin common room it was desolate, and she suspected that it was well past the school's bedtime. Everyone seemed to be asleep. Happy to be back at Hogwarts, or ready to begin their schooling here, but her.

A case of nerves had settled into the pit of her stomach as she sat by the dying fire, the pin still clenched between her fingers. She'd spent the last several hours, re-adjusting herself with the school and the grounds. Spending quarter of an hour by the lakeshore, remembering all the good time she'd had there with her friends. Her friends, whom she missed sincerely and felt a sharp pang of guilt as her thoughts ran onto them. They had absolutely no idea what she was doing. They would have suspected that she'd run off, and if Ron Weasley had done as she'd asked, then they would assume that she'd met a new professional Quidditch player and gone off to live happily in France.

Her lips twitched at the thought of Emily, her best friend's smile as she read Marie's letter of "temporary" good-bye, as she had put it in the note. She could almost see her friend's lips thin gin disapproval as she read Marie's detailed description of her Quidditch player and their new residence in Paris. Maybe, it things had worked out all right and by some far-fetched miracle, she got back to her time, she would consider telling Emily the truth.

The common room was quiet, the only sound were the embers crackling merrily in the grate. But even they were dying as she watched some of the flames sputter and disappear. _How symbolic…_ her thoughts even seemed to be sarcastic.

"Students should be in bed," A soft voice said from the behind her. Instead of jumping like she had several times tonight, she froze. That voice was familiar, even though she had heard it mutter only one word before, and it wasn't to her. But instead to a wall.

Marie turned, her eyes slamming into the teenage Voldemort. Tom Riddle.


	4. Chapter 4

k

"_Students should be in bed," A soft voice said from the behind her. Instead of jumping like she had several times tonight, she froze. That voice was familiar, even though she had heard it mutter only one word before, and it wasn't to her. But instead to a wall._

_Marie turned, her eyes slamming into the teenage Voldemort. Tom Riddle._

**Chapter Three**

"Students, should be in bed at this hour," he repeated, his wand still turning in between his long forefingers. "Especially _new_ students."

Her very first thought was: _Dear Merlin, he's going to kill me right here._ But Tom Riddle wasn't that obvious, he was sneaky, especially at Hogwarts, he wouldn't kill her.

_For now._

She didn't know what to say in reply, usually if it had been someone in her own house – _Gryffindor_ – she amended silently, Slytherin was her house now, Marie would have given them one heaping of a tongue-lashing. However, in the presence of Tom Riddle, Voldemort, The Dark Lord, whatever he was to be called in this time, her mouth seemed to freeze up, tongue swollen in her mouth. It was, she realized, that she was afraid of him, absolutely terrified of what he could – and would – do to her if he ever found out who she really was. Or what she was doing at Hogwarts, nearly seventy years behind her own time.

"I c-couldn't s-sleep," she stammered, wincing at the inflection in her voice. _Oh this is _pathetic, she mentally told herself, disgusted by the frightened tone.

Marie Adamms was many things, she wasn't the nicest person ever, in fact she was hardly nice to anyone she did not know, and was loyal to the very few people who stuck by her through her own life. That left very _few_ people. She was brave, to a point, and then cowardice took over, but somehow she'd always done what was right – at least in her opinion. It didn't matter that she'd nearly failed her Transfiguration OWLS, and was now taking the NEWTS class – and had seriously _lied_ about being good at Herbology on her recommendation to Dippet.

There was one thing Marie Adamms never was – and that was dependent on anything or person. She'd always been able to carry the burden alone, and would continue to do so until the day she died (which she suspected may be someday soon, perhaps even tonight). She could handle almost anything without help. And Tom Riddle was going to be one of those things.

She straightened her spine, slipping out her trusty and familiar wand, the weight feeling perfect in her palm. "Though, I can't imagine what my not being able to sleep, has to do with you?" She added, this time her voice sounding strong – and somewhat superior.

Tom Riddle did not like that – he did not like the way she had spoken to him, she could tell by the red glow flickering quickly in his eyes. Perhaps it had just been the firelight, glinting off he cool gray of those orbs, but she didn't really think so. This red glimmer didn't come from any lighting – but instead from the soul. And then it was gone – gone before she could have a real chance at analyzing the man who had created one of the greatest dark forces in Wizarding history.

"I am Head Boy, it is my duty to see whether students are misbehaving, especially if they are breaking the rules within my own house," he said, coolly.

"That's all fine and proper, but I wasn't misbehaving, I was merely minding my own business in my new common room, simply because I couldn't sleep. Is that such a crime?" Marie turned to pick up the bag she'd brought with her on her tour of the grounds and as she did, she would have bet ten galleons that his lips had twitched, but a moment later, when she glanced back up at his face, it expressionless.

As usual.

"That is very true, many apologies… Miss…?"

Now he was trying to charm her, he was very good, she supposed.

But not quite good enough.

His infamous manipulation and suave attitude didn't hold a candle what she'd seen growing up. Her Uncle had been well versed in the ways of manipulation – _outcome engineering_, as he had liked to call it. Though, he most likely had learned from Voldemort himself.

"Adamms, double m. Marie Adamms, and don't try to charm me, Mr...?"

"Riddle." He didn't offer a first name, and so she did not ask for one. As if she didn't already know it.

"Our discussion has exhausted me, Mr. Riddle, I may as well just go to bed." And so she walked past him, slinging the bag over he shoulder as she went, and suppressing a large shudder as her robes barely brushed his. It was a cheap excuse, and she knew it, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do. There had been absolutely no point to their discussion anyways – at least that she could see – that didn't end in her own death.

The simple and most astounding fact about Hogwarts was that almost all Slytherins were early risers – it wasn't something she'd expected before now. But when the sunlight started to shine through the window every single girl in Marie's dorm were up and ready to begin their days. They were what she liked "morning people" a term she didn't particularly enjoy – or for that matter apply to herself in any case. It was only Zelda March's incessant chatter that drove her to wake up (after several attempts to drone out the other girl's voice by covering a pillow over her face.)

Marie waited until every girl in her dorm had left for breakfast before she got ready. When it came to getting ready for the day, she was essentially the slowest moving person in all of history. However, her patience for other people only lasted a grand total of twelve seconds before she felt the need to hex them. It was an odd combination of personality traits – traits that usually made her late for breakfast.

She sat in the great hall alone, Slughorn passing out start of term schedules. He barely spared her a glance before passing onto one of his more remarkable students. It was amazing how quickly gossip could be forgotten. It seemed that the story of her arrival had already been distributed from student to student and the Hogwarts rumor mill had started on a new topic for the day.

Which was perfectly fine for her. It would prove useful on more than one future event. She glanced over towards the center of the Slytherin table where she knew Tom Riddle sat. He was completely at ease, controlling the situation, none of his cronies any the wiser. He was so _arrogant. _

Just one spell would wipe that smug look off his face forever.

_You could do it now_, came the inner voice that was usually represented the more evil side of her. _Just walk over and kill him_. She'd be sent to Azkaban, no teacher would let her walk out of here alive. Although she'd already graduated Hogwarts – knew countless escape a route to and from the school – Dumbledore was here. He would find her. And he would be forced to send her away – despite the fact that what she was doing was for the good of mankind.

_Do it. _

"No," she whispered through clenched teeth.

He looked up – Tom Riddle glanced at her as if he'd heard her speak, heard her thoughts. His eyes sharpened as they rested on her. She could feel his mind calculating behind that face – that treacherous face. It was time to go to class. She moved, praying that the rest of her day went without conflict – even though she was there to cause some.

"I hate this," Marie muttered angrily, the next morning. Being a seventh year twice in a row was going to kill her if Tom Riddle didn't. On top of trying to find a perfect time frame for murder (which sounded much easier thought that done) homework, essays, and hopefully not exams had come into the equation. Somehow her brain hadn't exactly budgeted for this. The idea of coming back to Hogwarts again to seek revenge on the Dark Lord had been something that she'd been plotting since the night she'd found out her family had been on his favorite hit list. Unfortunately her not so forward thinking self hadn't thought of the actual _school_work part.

"I _really_ hate this."

It was to be the second day of term – _second day_! And she was already looking up older remedies and counter-charms to the two important essays that were due within the first week. It was bad enough that certain potions hadn't been invented yet – and although the idea of taking credit for their invention a few years earlier to get out of some work appealed greatly to her, it would mean very poorly for her role as the quiet mouse.

Marie dug out a book that looked as if it had been living in a tomb for that last fifty years from the back of the library. Its cover was lined with dust, the title barely recognizable, and it made her sneeze. Which was all together _prohibited _in the library.

"This," she hissed, searching through yellow crusted pages to the index. "Is." Marie used the sleeve of her robe to wipe the grime away from the words, not wanting to think about what that _grime _actually was. "_Ridiculous_."

"Having trouble?"

The voice slid shivers down her spine. One some level she felt betrayed by the fact that she was surprised he was here. Tom Riddle was a Slytherin (who all apparently liked to wake up as soon as the sun rose) and he was an over-achiever. He knew how play empathetic, the sympathetic ear, the charming sweetheart, and the controlling tyrant all very well. So it would be perfectly non-surprising that he was in the library – _in the morning._

"No," she said quickly, hurriedly flipping to a random page so that she could at least _look_ like she knew what she was doing. He left her be, settling himself at one of the tables, laying out his potions book where he began to read, an intense hunger for the knowledge clearly flickering in his eyes.

She watched him pour over the pages for a little while, it was almost compulsive the way Marie had to force herself to pretend to read the massive book in front of her. Studying her quarry was not something she needed to do so obviously_._

It was when he was reading a particular passage about the proper way to stir a _secret ingredient _into a Draught of Fear, when his eyebrows knitted together. Carefully, as if the book had actual feelings, he marked the corner of his page, making a note on his parchment to find what the secret ingredient actually was. In the standard textbook he had – and that was assigned – they didn't give it out due to the makers fear that his readers would actually _try _to use this potion. The information could only be found in _A Complete Copy of Hidden Potions _by Cassiopeia Albright. She knew, because she'd run into the same problem while conducting her own experiments with the potion. _She'd _had to go digging for it in the restricted section.

"A pinch of Dragon Powder," she said, flipping a page of her book, hoping to appear somewhat nonchalant.

He straightened, turning the page of the index he was now using to find said secret ingredient. It was the second time that day she felt those eyes on her – penetrating into her own – and Marie wasn't sure she liked it.

"Dragon Powder is the missing ingredient," she said again, flipping another page. "You won't find it in there, that's the Standardized version. They only want you to have an idea of the potion – not actually make it. I should know. I had to dig through half of Flourish and Blotts to find a copy that actually sold the full recipe."

Silence met her words. She waited a few moments before looking up, he was watching her, studying her, sizing her up shrewdly. After a moment, he nodded, and returned to his book. She did the same, but from out of the corner of her eye, she saw him write down "dragon powder" on the top of the page.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Dragon Powder is the missing ingredient," she said again, flipping another page. "You won't find it in there, because that's the Standardized version. They only want you to have an idea of the potion – not actually make it. I should know I had to dig through half of Flourish and Blotts to find a copy that actually sold the full recipe."_

_Silence met her words. She waited a few moments before looking up, he was watching her, studying her, sizing her up shrewdly. After a moment, he nodded, and returned to his book. She did the same, but from out of the corner of her eye, she saw him write down "dragon powder" on the top of the page. _

**Chapter Four**

Halloween.

It had been almost two months to the day since Marie had rolled in on the Hogwarts Express for the eight times in her life on September 1st (most people only had to do that _seven _times). She supposed that some people would give a right arm and a leg to stay at Hogwarts an extra year – of course those were the people who stayed during Christmas and Easter breaks. Sadly, on occasion she'd been one to avoid her Uncle's home so she shouldn't really be complaining.

"Miss Adamms, I don't suppose you could tell me the correct spell that one would use to transfigure a cat into a…" It was the second – no third – time that the Transfiguration Professor had called on her. It was apparently obvious that _this _particular subject was not her best. Since, she'd gotten a D for _dreadful _on her Transfiguration O.W.L.

"I don't know, professor," she said for the third time, this time hoping that the irritation in her voice would show through.

"Miss Adamms, is there anything you _do _know?"

She gritted her teeth, flexing her fingers absent-mindedly in agitation.

_Pertaining to this subject, no not particularly. _

"I can tell you all the properties of moonstone, but somehow I'm not quite sure you would like to hear that," was what she actually said.

The professor clucked. "Impertinence, Miss Adamms."

Questions for the rest of lesson were directed solely at the people who knew exactly how to answer them. There were thirty-four in total that Tom Riddle himself had answered. Correctly.

If that wasn't enough to get her riled and ready to pick an argument with the first person she came in contact with (which would no doubt be some girl from her dorm) then being smacked into by Lestrange on the way down into the dungeon was pushing her over the edge.

She was walking steadily down to Slughorn's classroom when her whole entire body was being catapulted into a suit of armor. Thank Merlin for the battleaxe and whoever had once worn that suit had to be a massively built man. She grabbed onto the torso to steady herself, letting out a vicious curse.

They were going to get it, whoever pushed her over was going to have hell to pay. She turned to find hear snickers from a group of Slytherin boys walking forwards into the dungeons. It was actually somewhat of a surprise to her to see Tom Riddle in the front, he hadn't once glanced back.

"A simple 'excuse me' would have sufficed," she said, loudly, pulling out her wand. Without a word she mumbled the jelly legs jinx. Lestrange's legs gave out and his legs wobbled uncontrollably. He stared confusedly down at his legs and then his eyes narrowed as he glared up at Marie.

"You'll _pay –_"

"In what?"

She rolled her eyes, feeling sudden bravery rise in her chest. Marie moved past them, emboldened and feeling suddenly reckless. She knew for a fact that this was going to come back to bite her, but somehow she felt that when it happened she'd be ready. Or at least better prepared. As she past the front of the group, something grabbed her arms, squeezing tightly. The courageous bubble she'd felt burst as Tom Riddle's eyes pierced her own.

For the first time since she'd found out that her uncle had betrayed her family, she felt _fear. _

_Fear of another person._

Enigma. If ever there was a word to describe Mari Adamms that would be it. Tom Riddle set his book down at his potions table, feeling a flash of annoyance as Avery sat down beside him.

"What's the plan for her," he whispered, leaning in closer along with the other two who sat across from them, hoping that he'd get in on the revenge plot. It was true, he did have a clear plan of action for what to do with her – but it was one he never really considered before. Usually, he would scare her, terrify her until she never came near them ever again and then maybe someday… he would get rid of her. But none of that would do someone like _her _justice.

To someone who was bored with mere students who were not his followers, this girl was a fascination for him. Something he could ill-afford to keep around. But something that his own curiosity and obsessive nature could not draw away from. It was like a magnet, she moved – reacted – and some part of him did the same. He'd watched her after the incident in the library, listened to her well detailed answers in Potions and had even stolen an essay from Charms when she'd left it laying in the common room. It had been thoroughly planned out and the description was enough to earn her an E at best. He'd even watched her suffer through Transfiguration, enjoying her exasperation with the subject. She clearly had no aptitude for that area of wizardry.

"Nothing," he said, waving his hand to let them know he brooked no argument from them.

The lesson went on as planned, one precarious ingredient after another, and one small glance at Marie after another. There was no emotional attachment to her, but somehow he fixated. He – _desired _her. And that wasn't something he had ever felt. He didn't like it for one second. It would have to be fixed immediately.

Marie stumbled into the common room after a particularly late night at the library reading up on how exactly she was supposed to do human transfiguration properly without turning her hair into several different shades of orange. Her body jerked forwards as she felt something invisible hook around her navel.

Instinctively she looked up, her eyes taking in the eerie scene in front of her, Tom Riddle sat in a comfortable deep green armchair, watching her. All she could see was the outline of his body, his wand resting on the left armrest, twirling around and around in his fingers. His eyes glittered brightly in the dark light; he flicked his wrist and the pressure around her waist lifted.

_So this was payback_. Somehow she'd expected the all-powerful Lord Voldemort to plan out his revenge – maybe he was like wine and got better with age – not immediately strike at her. She's also expected his followers to at least be there, but she knew inherently that they were alone.

"Good evening," he said in a pleasant voice.

This was not like the Tom Riddle she'd heard about – the cruel, sadistic, unforgiving monster was what she'd listened to stories and read about. He was the thing of nightmares, a genius with no soul and a penchant for power. The boy who sat in the chair stared at her as if she were an animal he wanted to study. Those looks made her feel bear – naked – like all her secrets were out in the open for someone to read. She'd read about legilimency and had never been great at occlumency but she didn't feel like this was it.

"Good evening," she said in reply, standing awkwardly in the center of the common room.

They stared at each other for another moment, before he flicked his wand again.

Now _this _was the stuff she'd expected. Her legs wobbled violently and when she tried to stand still they fought back, until she fell on her hands and knees. Marie straightened, deciding to not give him the satisfaction of having her _kneel _before him. She sat down Indian style, crossing her legs, staring patiently up at him. Waiting.

"You must wonder what I'm doing," he said in a perfectly clean, unemotional voice.

"You could say that." She propped her chin up on her elbows, giving him a droll stare. There weren't many people who would have given Lord Voldemort _that _type of look. And most of them were dead – or soon to be.

"You are a confusing aspect I didn't expect to ever arise. A curiosity if you will."

"And I need to be dealt with," she clarified for herself, wondering why on earth she hadn't just killed him the first night they'd met. He was sneaky – and very secretive, but she could take a hint. "You don't like me, because I present a challenge. People aren't challenges to you, objects, spells, and wand waving definitely is." She was going off everything she'd learned about him, and apparently this struck a chord.

He hissed, all but baring his teeth. Apparently he didn't like someone who able to read him – or read a book or two seventy years later. He _glared _at her, the malevolence in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of her, sending a fresh chill down her spine. But it didn't stop her. For the second time, something bold washed over her – like she'd been possessed by some inborn demon that made her feel reckless. It didn't matter that he was _the_ Lord Voldemort and would kill without remorse with a flick of his wand; it didn't even register in her brain.

She stood, barely noting that his jinx had been lifted, only watching the way his eyes tracked her. He looked hungry as she stalked forwards, his body tensed like a predator. Marie stopped directly in front of him, placing her body on the armrest, stringing her feet over his lap. It was surprising that all he did was watch her. What was more surprising was that he didn't kill her – or she didn't kill herself. She'd never done anything like this before.

They stared at each other for a moment. And then it happened. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing painfully, his other hand holding onto her hip. Their lips met. It wasn't like a normal kiss, when it should have ended he didn't let it. The only time she got to stop was to take deep breaths and dive back in for more. For someone who most likely had never had a first kiss – much less wanted to – he knew how to take control. And Merlin help her, but she liked it. When he stopped they just looked at each other.

A part of her wanted to say something calm and collected like "haven't you ever been kissed before, Tom" but she couldn't. His eyes glittered primitively – possessively and she imagined she looked afraid. And she could tell that he liked it.

"I can't do this," she whispered. But unlike the girl she wanted to be who got up and left, she couldn't move. And neither could he.

The boy who was to be the most soulless person that had ever existed in Wizarding History and still was. The most _evil _and _secretive _person that man had ever known. The person she was supposed to murder, had shown a passion that didn't revolve around magic.


	6. Chapter 6

k

A/N: Apparently doesn't let me put in line breaks or asterisks so it's _really _hard to tell when I split the chapters. Which is driving me nuts.

"_I can't do this," she whispered. But unlike the girl she wanted to be who got up and left, she couldn't move. And neither could he. _

_The boy who was to be the most soulless person that had ever existed in Wizarding History and still was. The most evil and secretive person that man had ever known. The person she was supposed to murder; had shown a passion that didn't revolve around magic. _

**Chapter Five**

Marie stumbled around her dorm – half awake – her mind still trying to cope with just _what _exactly she'd gotten herself into. She wasn't the type of person to kiss people unless she truly liked them – despite her extroverted behavior – and she did _not _like Tom Riddle. Firstly, they'd barely spoken a handful of words to each other which wasn't her style, she preferred to be able to have an actual _conversation _with the person she –

"You going to the match?" Christa Van Horn asked, tucking her dark brown hair into precarious braids, her silver and green scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked like one of those girls who belonged in the Style edition of Witch Weekly. It was a far cry from Marie's own ripped pajamas and dark bruises underneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

"_I'm_ going," Zelda announced, pushing Christa away from the mirror so she could check that her Slytherin pin was placed directly in the center of the left side on her cloak. "And I'm definitely going to meet Marcus later."

The remaining girls giggled, filing out one after the other like they were an inseparable group of friends. She'd had that once. Friends that she could always count on. Her group had consisted of Emily Ross, a very loyal and vivacious Gryffindor who happened to be her best friend, Jane Burgundy, another Gryffindor, and Claire Cristobel, the only one of their friends who belonged to another house. They'd laughed together, told each other everything, except this…

"Are you coming?" Zelda had poked her head back in the room, grinning broadly at some joke that Christa had just cracked out of earshot.

Marie shook her head. "Transfiguration homework," she said, hoping she sounded apologetic. A part of her wanted desperately to go, she loved Quidditch, but if she wanted to look intelligent in a classroom full of even smarter Slytherins she'd better stay inside.

"See you."

She waved at the girl's retreating back, pitying herself slightly for being so terrible at Transfiguration.

An hour later Marie was seated in her usual place at the library, her books laid out in front of her. She was pouring over the Complete History of Tangent spells and finding it as boring as it probably found her when _he _sat down across from her.

_What, Did he live here?_

Unlike all the other times she'd seen him in the library there wasn't a book anywhere near him. He sat, his stormy eyes watching her with keen fascination. Marie flushed, hoping to ignore him – hoping to not think of what she was here to do and how _easy _it would be to do it right now.But her curiosity was lit and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't just be _done _with her mission. Not until he played his hand.

"Are you going to ignore me?" His voice was cool, completely calm but there was a hint of irritation beneath the surface that told her she was striking gold.

"Planning on it," she said, taking out her Potions essay and began to revise it.

He sat for a few more moments in silent patience before he stood, walking around the table to sit next to her. But he didn't sit down; his hands went to her neck smoothing the hair away. It should have been creepy – and it was – but apart of her enjoyed it. And then he squeezed, cutting off her air supply.

"Would you like to ignore me now?" He whispered in her ear.

Panic swelled in her gut as she choked out, shaking her head in fear. Wasn't he always serene and deadly or murderous with annoyance? He let her go, her head shooting forwards nearly smacking into the table.

"You want more of me," she rasped, breathing being extremely painful. He laughed, leaning forwards. This time he initiated it, gently kissing her– torturing her until he had complete control.

The fear was still there pounding in her chest but there was something else that was going to eventually crush her resolve – she knew it. She was already emotionally entangled when she shouldn't be. They hadn't even spoken! He was practically the incarnate of pure evil and he was going to kill hundreds of people and she was falling.

"No!"

It hadn't come from her. She was still practically melting into him when he pushed her away. He turned away, heading down the hallway and her brain didn't react but her legs did.

"Tom," she said, softly.

"Don't call me that," he hissed, turning on her. "Don't _ever _use that name with me."

"Tom," she said again, stretching out a hand towards him.

"I said –!"

She touched his arm, hoping the gesture would soften. But whom was she kidding, it was Lord Voldemort, nothing mellowed him.

Marie started, jerking upwards from her position sleeping at the library tables. She'd had a dream – a horrible, terrible dream. And she wanted it to happen in real life. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes, looking around to see _what _exactly had woken her up.

And there he was, reading across from her, casually flipping the pages of his book with those long slender fingers. She shuddered, uncharacteristically biting her lip. A part of her felt like asking how long he'd been sitting there. The other part, more growing, felt like the silence was somehow fitting. So she sat, waiting ridiculously for him to say something, which she knew he wouldn't. After a half of an hour past, he stood nodding to her, and left.

She watched his retreating back, a slight hope rising in the pit of her stomach that he might turn around and look at her. As much as she wished it, it didn't really seem like Tom Riddle was – he twitched. _He twitched_! Voldemort twitched; turning his cheek ever so slightly that she saw his eyes flicker quickly towards her. She turned away just as fast, staring blankly down at her book.

It occurred to her when _she _left the library that some underlying feeling – a womanly intuition that she hadn't known she had – that this had been some sort of date. And she'd been asleep for half of it.

She whispered his name when she was sleeping – she'd whispered his name. Tom sat in the Slytherin common room, twirling his wand absent-mindedly around his fingers. His _friends _sat around his feet, waiting for some sort of instruction. Some twittered aimlessly, but there was no mistake in the air of excitement that hovered around them.

"What are we to do, My Lord," said Avery, who knelt by the fireplace, his shoulders twitching nervously.

He raised a hand to silence him. They wanted to know what to do with Marie – and he couldn't exactly tell them what not to do. Not without raising a few suspicions. He waved his hand, in a sign of dismissal. "Leave her." They bowed to him, and he silently mused that someday they would be kissing the hem of his robes.

In past his meetings with the students who were smart enough – or scared enough in some respects – to follow him he enjoyed their revered worship they saved for him. He wanted Marie to adore him – but not in the same fearful way the rest of them did. His chest physically _hurt_ today in the library when he studied her sleeping patterns. She was a deep sleeper, that moved around to get comfortable on top of her Transfiguration book – a class he had no idea how she'd gotten into – and only breathed his name once.

Just one time. But it had been enough.

The ambitious part of him matched up for the first time, outside his plans, with the side he kept leashed, the uncontrolled side.

The wall to the common room slid open; a gaggle of giggling girls entered and at the back was Marie. His eyes drew to her like a moth to flame, and he tracked her movements when they all dropped their book bags over by a clear table. She sat at the back, pretending to be listening, smiling when necessary. It was during the parts where no one was looking at her (but him) and her friends were gossiping insipidly over the clip in Harriet Godwin's hair last Saturday, that she looked away from them to stare aimlessly at the roaring fire. She glanced up, as if sensing his gaze, and stared at him. Shamelessly looking at him, analyzing him, as he was her.

"Marie," a girl named Christa hissed, looking positively mortified. He felt a rise of irritation as her gaze was drawn away from his. "_Stop looking at him_." All the girls glanced quickly at him and then away again as if he were dirty – but he knew that wasn't it. They were afraid of him – they all were – it was like some survival instinct within every person who avoided him. They knew that he was walking death.

Marie frowned, a determined and stubborn set to her jaw started up when she stood, walking at a normal pace to sit directly across from him. It seemed as if the whole world was watching – well at least the whole entire Slytherin house who would no doubt spread it to the rest of the school by morning. She cocked her head, her finger trembling around her wand.

He moved lightning quick to his, feeling under his skin that she was going to jinx him. And then she re-adjusted her wand, securing is safely in her pocket, looking up at him with wide, frightened doe eyes as she registered his own want sitting perfectly still on his lap.

"I need help," she said, still looking him directly in the eye. He didn't like it. She refused to give him control. "I'm dreadful at Transfiguration, as you well know, and I need… help," she finished lamely, a scowl crossing her face.

Tom didn't speak. Did she want him to help her? He didn't help people, and yet the idea of her being at his intellectual mercy when it came to a subject gave him a thrill. She was going to be prey – the hunted – and he was going to like ruling her. Only as long as she put up a fight.

He looked into her eyes, and saw the faintest glimmer of amusement. Oh, there was no doubt about her battling him. It would be warfare when he brought her down. And he would thoroughly enjoy it,

Tom Riddle nodded, flipping open to the first chapter on their Advanced Transfiguration book. They would start with basics.


	7. Chapter 7

k

_Tom didn't speak. Did she want him to help her? He didn't help people, and yet the idea of her being at his intellectual mercy when it came to a subject gave him a thrill. She was going to be prey – the hunted – and he was going to like ruling her. Only as long as she put up a fight. _

_He looked into her eyes, and saw the faintest glimmer of amusement. Oh, there was no doubt about her battling him. It would be warfare when he brought her down. And he would thoroughly enjoy it, _

_Tom Riddle nodded, flipping open to the first chapter on their Advanced Transfiguration book. They would start with basics._

**Chapter Six**

Her favorite color was red. Tom knew that by the way she looked longingly at the Gryffindor scarves when winter came. One of her friends had asked her one-day while he'd been near, and she'd said just as much, remarking dryly that her favorite color had once been green. The blonde she'd beet sitting with looked baffled, but hadn't pressed it. Neither had he.

They had almost nightly study sessions in the library, where they spoke of little but Transfiguration and other school subjects. Nothing personal, nothing outside of classes. True to his word – or nod – he'd been helping her, silently pointing out when she'd done something wrong and would help her fix it. It always took her awhile to get, which had begun to drive him absolutely insane at first, until she'd compared Transfiguration to her was like Arithmetic. And then he'd understood more, never have been particularly interested in the subject area himself.

On one such night where they sat alone in their usual table near the restricted section, both sets of eyes staying drawn to the page of his Charms book and her Potions tome. She bookmarked her page, drawing out a long red and gold bookmarker – that Tom secretly wanted to throw in the fire every time he laid eyes on it – and sticking it between the pages.

"I'm exhausted," she said, faking a yawn. "I'm going to head off to bed. Thank you."

She always avoided using his name, he noted, looking up to meet her eyes. He at least expected her to pack her things away and move, but she didn't. She sat, staring at him. And then her gaze dropped away.

"I can't do this," she whispered, shutting her eyes so that a very fat tear escaped from the corner.

His insides clenched up in horror and partial disgust. She couldn't cry – _Marie _couldn't cry. It destroyed his image of her, and made her appear more human. Worse, that idea actually _appealed _to him.

"Goodnight, Tom," she said, throwing her things carelessly into her bag, obviously furious with herself. It was nice to see some emotion coming from her – something else besides the calm, frigidness he'd felt this last month he'd been helping her. Something in it gave him pleasure to know he'd caused this type of reaction – stirred something up.

And then he realized she'd said his name. Officially, she'd spoken directly to him, and while it was not the name he had fashioned for himself, it was something.

"Say it again," he murmured, rising to his feet, blocking her exit.

"Say what?" she snapped, not bothering to move past him. She was terrified of being alone with him, and yet she still kept coming. Why?

"My name. Say it."

"Tom." She said it so blandly and so full of cynicism, but all that didn't register.

It wasn't enough. He wanted to her to keep saying it. Forever maybe.

"Again." He closed in, giving her no choice but to back up – into a table. The fear escalated in her eyes, and he thrived on it, trapping her hands by her side so she wouldn't be able to fight back. "Say my name again."

"Tom," she said, so meekly that it was almost revolting at how fast she was afraid. And yet he still wanted more.

He kissed her, but it really wasn't long before she reciprocated, pushing at his hands so that she could at least knot them in his hair. He let go of her, pulling roughly at the collar of her robes.

"Tom," she said again, and he knew that she knew it would drive him crazy. He was frenzied, feeling the consuming need to touch her hair, her face, everywhere.

"Ooh!" A squeal sounded from behind them. He stiffened, snatching his wand from his robe pocket, turning around to hex whoever was standing there. It was group of three Gryffindor girls, who watched with wide eyes at their spectacle. They squeaked in terror at the murderous look in his eyes and turned heel and ran. It was really no use. It would be in the rumor mill as of tomorrow.

He watched them, fantasizing about how their eyes would look when their life drained from it – by his hand.

She couldn't do this anymore. That was it. She was done. She'd broken at least twelve cardinal rules that had been set by people dealing with the Dark Lord before her, and some she'd added on her own. Kissing him had to be number one, and crying in front of him was probably going to be a close second.

The pressure was shaking Marie's foundation. Her plan – her glorious plan was falling apart around her feet. Kill Tom Riddle. How hard was that, she'd had ample opportunity to murder him, and she hadn't taken them. It was exactly what she'd been dreading – of course being emotionally entangled with him wasn't exactly planned. Apparently no matter how evil and isolated Tom Riddle may have been he was just like every other teenage boy.

He turned back to her, staring into her like he knew what she was thinking. She sighed.

"I can't do this, Tom," purposefully using his name to get his attention. "I can't feel something for someone when there's no possible response from them. It hurts, and I don't mean to get emotional with you because I know you don't like that, but you should know."

She got as far as sliding off the table before he obstructed her way.

"Letting you out isn't an option," he said, and she realized it was one of the first full sentences he'd spoken to her.

"Then what are we going to do?" she said, softly.

He did a very atypical thing for Tom Riddle to do, he shrugged, but somehow he managed to do it still in complete control. "What do –" he choked on his next word as if it was contaminated " –_ normal_ people do?"

_Where the bloody hell was this coming from?_ He wasn't supposed to do this, he was supposed to leave her alone or kill her. Not ask what normal people did when they liked each other.

"Date, I suppose," she said, not serious. But he was. He nodded, leaning down to seal the deal with his mouth.

At breakfast, Marie knew everyone knew. The way they gossiped when she walked past and sat in usual spot at the end of the table by herself. Whispers never really bothered her, she'd gotten them a lot, but usually her friends stood right next to her. It had been bearable with them by her side. They'd all sit around the table – Claire would come over from Ravenclaw – and eat together. She could practically hear Emily whispering in her ear to _ignore them._

Tom entered the hall, his robes looking completely impeccable and neat, she watched his search the Slytherin table, his eyes barely registering his group of devoted followers. Innately she knew he was looking for her. Their eyes met briefly, and he nodded taking a seat next to her. It seemed as if the whole word stood still. He sat beside her, his hand automatically resting on her upper thigh.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. They were still, eating their breakfast in a peaceful manner – as if Lord Voldemort was peaceful.

"Tell me something," he said, neatly cutting up a piece of ham on his plate. "Who are you?"

She paused, debating over answer, deciding to just give him the truth. Well, most of it. "Well, to start my name is Marie Octavia Adamms, named after my great aunt on my mother's side. I'm eighteen years old, born and raised in London. I was home schooled until my parents died, and then I lived with my Uncle who's passed as well" Best to cover all her bases. "After that I came here, where I will remain until I graduate" Again. "After graduation, I'm not sure where I'm going. How about you?"

He pushed his plate away, avoiding the question. "Were you from a wealthy family?" He seemed turned off by the idea, frowning in disgust at the food he'd just consumed.

"Not really," she answered, honestly. "We were well off, my Uncle was the wealthy one, but I've had enough to be comfortable." Her mouth was running, and she had no idea why it was, she couldn't seem to stop speaking. It was so easy, because she knew he was taking in every single piece of information and _savoring _it. "I suppose I should tell you right now that I'm half-blood." He stilled beside her, his hand frozen on her leg. "I didn't really want to bring it up, but you should know. In case it matters."

A smile crept on his lips – it was almost gaunt and garish. "No, I don't mind. "

It was odd, but they walked close on their way to double Potions, his lingering near hers. She locked pinkies with him (something that she'd seen people do in those muggle films), and began cutting up her ingredients.


	8. Chapter 8

_It was odd, but they walked close on their way to double Potions, his lingering near hers. She locked pinkies with him (something that she'd seen people do in those muggle films), and began cutting up her ingredients. _

**Chapter Seven**

"One thing that drives me insane about Slytherin is its over-whelming tendency to lord everything over the other houses," Marie said, sitting in her usual spot in the 7th year boys dormitory, waiting for Tom to finish packing his book bag. They had a regular schedule – she came up to his dorm to wait for him every weekend before they retired to the library to do whatever pleased them at the time.

The conversation flow had been tense at first but eventually he'd loosened up – and so had she. He was still evil and she'd grown comfortable around him as if he were a friend. A friend who wasn't actually a friend, but a boyfriend, who she was quickly falling in lo – _no_ she wasn't going to go there. She didn't know what was different this time around but somehow Voldemort was becoming attached to a human being. And that person was her.

"Need I remind you, that _you _belong to the Slytherin house," Tom said, shoving his Potions book into a second bag. "So your point is moot."

"I was just saying that it seems to be a quality of the average Slytherin student, past and present." And future. "To be slightly –"

"Superior?"

"Exactly, you understand me so well." She gave him a bright smile. His lips twitched in response. "Tom," she said, snatching a hold of his sleeve, she hated that she sounded needy, but this was driving her insane. They didn't discuss feelings often, and while they shared multiple opinions and he knew nearly every little thing about her and she about him (except the messy history which they both avoided like the plague) they didn't talk about how they felt about each other. And she felt for him more than he did for her. Or at least that's what she was going to find out.

"How do you feel about me?" It was so weird to ask that – to ask Voldemort or Tom that – because he knew he would avoid the question, usually by kissing her or diverting her attention with something completely random. "I don't mean to sound needy –"

He traced her lips with his thumb, staring.

"Tom, please don't try and distract me. I can't be in a relationship that's only one way."

"It's not," he said, suddenly – abruptly.

There was a plethora of subjects that they hadn't gone over yet – that they both religiously avoided. Well, okay, _she _avoided. It was Tom's every annoying persistency that cracked one of the biggest secrets she'd had. The one concerning him. Out of all the slip-ups she'd ever give, she had to say the one thing that would make him follow her. Investigate her. And basically blow her cover. It didn't start that way, the beginning of the end never really does. It's something that happens when some one – mainly her – gets too comfortable with someone else – Tom – and spills the beans about certain past events. In this case the problem was Eric Davies, her first boyfriend.

"Am I the first one to kiss you?" Tom said, touching her lips with a frown.

Marie bit her lip, not wanting to answer his question. She'd kissed Eric Davies on their trip to Hogsmeade in her fifth year and their "relationship" had been little more than a few shared kisses before she caught him doing the same thing with Medea Bastian. After that she'd refused to date – condemning the whole institution.

His eyebrows rose menacingly as if he knew the answer already and didn't like it. "Who was he?" She had no doubt that when he used _that _tone of voice people ran for cover. The inner more shadowed part of her wanted to do just that.

"Eric Davies." And there was her first mistake. In this time and place there was no Eric Davies, and Tom would be just the type of person to follow him. And cut off his lips. And that is exactly what he did, minus the cutting off the lips part. Minutely, she knew that that was her first big slip-up, the part where he continued to ask her questions about where Eric Davies was now, how she'd known them, when she'd met him. And when the lies had gotten tangled in her throat, he'd had her followed. She felt like Desdemona might have from _Othello. _Smothered. Except the part with the pillow – but that was _probably _a coming attraction of the Tom and Marie show.

"Are you jealous of Eric Davies?"

He carefully removed his gloves – finger by finger – slowly and meticulously. It was the way he stalked forwards – predatory – that made that familiar flicker of fear ride higher in her stomach. She sat on his four-poster, legs crossed, a book resting open in her lap. He braced his hands on either side of her body, leaning forwards to look directly into her eye.

"Tell me something," he whispered into her ear, a deadly quality to his voice. "Your grandfather, what was his name?"

Her brain stumbled over the answer, who was her grandfather – she couldn't exactly _lie _outright. He would find out. It was stupid to get involved with him in the first place, it was stupid to even have thought she could change things. Of course, Marie wasn't exactly _known _for her intelligence in the area of personal matters. Rash and temperamental the logical course of action didn't always apply to her. It hadn't this time – and it wouldn't in the future.

"I don't know," she said, rolling away from him, a flippant grin on her face. "Never really bothered to ask."

His gaze didn't drop. "Then tell me something else, what is your birth year?"

Mathematics was never her strong suit. "19 – does it really matter Tom?" She needed to get out of this dorm – _now_! These were questions she couldn't answer, they deserved preparation which was something she didn't do particularly well. If at all. "Fine," she said finally when she'd subtracted seventeen years from the current. "If you insist –"

"Don't open your mouth to spew another lie," he hissed, locking her wrists to the bed with his own fingers. "I looked for an Eric Davies – and I found no record of him searching a hundred years back. Now either you've decided to lie to make yourself sound more experienced or there is something important you aren't telling me." It was the first time she saw the _real _Lord Voldemort surface.

"I'm not lying –"

He covered her mouth with his hand. "Tell me the _truth_!"


	9. Chapter 9

"_Don't open your mouth to spew another lie," he hissed, locking her wrists to the bed with his own fingers. "I looked for an Eric Davies – and I found no record of him searching a hundred years back. Now either you've decided to lie to make yourself sound more experienced or there is something important you aren't telling me." It was the first time she saw the real Lord Voldemort surface. _

"_I'm not lying –"_

_He covered her mouth with his hand. "Tell me the truth!"_

**Chapter Eight**

For a brief instant she knew this was it. She was going to die and there was nothing that she could do to stop it. Tom's fingers covered her mouth, smothering her breathing. His eyes were a steely gray – murderous – ready to harm. And then his grip slackened, eyes softened, it was over.

"Marie," he said, his voice level.

"Tom," she whispered, her head was resting between his palms, drawn straight up to look him in the eye.

"Tell me the truth." Vulnerability wasn't something that described Lord Voldemort, and there was no mistake that he was _not_ showing any signs of vulnerability now. But there was something in him that had offered itself up. It wasn't trust. It was an option. An explanation. He was giving her time to explain herself.

Marie looked him in the eye. It was all there. If there was any perfect moment to let everything loose it was now. But then she would die. And tonight, she didn't want to die. She wanted one more week with Tom, one week before everything was smashed into pieces. There was no point now in trying to think of a way to kill him. Somewhere inside of her she knew she wouldn't be able to do it.

"I _can't_." His fists slammed into the mattress. "Tom," she grabbed his face, pulling on his ear. His body jerked in an unexpected way, eyes flickering close, his shoulders sagging. He was completely relaxed, easily seduced. "You like that? Talk to me Tom."

"Tell me… the truth, Marie." He rolled to his side, but his face was still near hers.

"Give me time, Tom, it will come in time." With her death or his.

She was going to be dead by the end of the week.

Their relationship was a volatile – full of mini, explosions cropping up at every corner – thing and it was only made worse by Tom's shadowing everything Marie did. The word overbearing had crossed her mind a few times, it was only when he had researched her last name in the Index of Wizarding Surnames did he find even the hint of an answer.

"Just give me time," Marie said stroking the underside of his ear. She could get him to do just about anything, which was surprising considering who he was. "A little bit more time." But he was on his guard – he was always on his guard when it came to her. Always on the offense, which proved on a cold Thursday in November.

Tom was half hidden by the pillar only a portion of his ace was exposed to the light. There he watched a burning in his gut had started to grow. It was like a seed of poison that had been born inside his chest, getting bigger everyday, until it was too gigantic not to notice anymore. His eyes followed Marie speaking to a Gryffindor boy. She was smiling at him, nodding occasionally like she was enjoying herself.

A match lit in his chest. The reaction his body had pled no contest to how he _felt_. Rage bubbled in his chest, murder polluting his veins. He had no control of himself, completely unaware of his mind as he moved towards the pair.

Marie saw him before her _friend_ did. Here eyes broadened in fear and realization that he was on a warpath. Directed straight for her.

"Tom," she said, softly. She broke away from the boy – Jared Daniels – who was trying to pawn off his stolen vial of Dragon's Blood and stepped in front of him, wrapping an arm around his waist. A kiss landed on his cheek but it felt hollow in his skin. He still wasn't watching her, his eyes directed straight for Jared who was looking more uncomfortable by the second.

"Are you sure, Marie?" The boy asked. "I know you're good with potions, it would be your secret ingredient." Tom's fingers tightened painfully on her hip.

"No thank you." She succumbed to the biting pain in her midsection, letting Tom steer her away. "Stop it, Tom. You're hurting me." But he didn't listen instead he pulled her violently into the nearest empty classroom. A scarlet sheen had flitted over his irises and just as suddenly disappeared. He had her shoved against the desk forcing his way between her legs so he could be close enough to kill her if he needed. "Tom, stop!"

"What did he want from you?" He withdrew his wand, watching her wince and begin to hyperventilate. Fear flooded her lungs and to her sheer mortification Marie started to do what she liked to call Panic crying. Her chest heaved; the terror had reached its greedy claws into her heart and was prepared to stop it. Like Tom.

"T-tom," she managed to get out in between the upcoming hysteria that was rising in her throat.

He cupped her cheek, bracing his hands on her shoulders to steady their shaking. "Breathe, Marie." There was something in his voice she wouldn't have ever expected from him – warmth. It made her settle closer, pushing past the fear to rest her head on his chest. "Why are you afraid of me?"

"Because, I know who you are." She clutched onto his robes like a child to a blanket. "Who you'll become." It hadn't meant to come out the words had just flowed from her mouth. Minutely she found it surprising to realize how close she had gotten to him. Essentially, it was all word vomit.

He was silent for a moment. "Who am I?"

She bit her lips, looking straight up into his eyes.

"Lord Voldemort."


	10. Chapter 10

_He was silent for a moment. "Who am I?"_

_She bit her lips, looking straight up into his eyes. _

"_Lord Voldemort."_

**Chapter Nine**

Tom was not taken by surprise very often. Nor was he ever _not_ in control of his body or more importantly, his mind. It was times like this when his legendary restraint was completely disregarded. He was genuinely staggered by Marie's confession. A part of himself that he had never known before curdled at the thought of her knowing. Lord Voldemort was his past, his present, and his future. She was going to be part of that future, whether she wanted to be or not so it wasn't like she _wasn't_ going to find out whom he was. It was just supposed to be on _his_ terms. He watched her take a deep breath, her chest expanding and contracting.

"I don't belong here," she whispered, still looking straight at him. "I don't belong here. I'm not _from_ here."

"Marie –"

"I've already graduated from Hogwarts," she cut him off. "I'm eighteen and I'm about seventy years younger than you are." She paused. "Maybe eighty."

His mind pieced things together. Any magical elements that can be combined to bring her through time. Which was the only _logical_ explanation. Questions fluttered through his mind, but he pushed them aside to absorb her words. He listened to her prattle off a list of information about the future. "It was an accident – " a lie, he detected it immediately, "I was messing around and ended up here. So I made myself papers so I could come back to school and maybe find a way to send myself back." He placed his forefingers together, touching them against his lips and nodded. "Eric Davies was my first boyfriend, we were thirteen and stupid and I only kissed him once. And Jared –" she made a sweeping gesture towards the hallway they'd previously abandoned. "Was trying to selling me Dragon Blood for only who knows what reason."

Silence followed, resounding in the room like a cannon. She still hadn't answered his question. Tom let that to the forefront of his brain. He paused before speaking, lowering his fingers to frown at her. "Why are _you_ afraid of me?"

He could see the battle waging on her face, practically hear her thoughts. How much could she tell him? It was Marie so she was considering lying again or going for broke and tell him all. He knew the exact moment when her decision was made.

"You're Lord Voldemort. You are the greatest wizard the world has ever known." She snorted, glancing up at him with a wry smile that was too forced on her part. "You're also a mass murderer." Their hands met at a midpoint, interlocking. "I'm absolutely terrified of you. I've lived in the aftermath of what you've done." Her voice got lower – deeper. "Do you know that people fear to speak your name? Only the heroes I've heard stories about dare to say it." He moved closer at the same time she did.

"You'll be with me when it happens," he said, formulating new plans and images than the ones he'd had before. Tom hadn't realized just _how much_ she he become apart of his plans until he was certain of their future.

"No, Tom, I won't." She shook her head when she said it. "I won't stand by you when you begin your slaughter."

Now, _that _was something that hadn't been in his plans. Somehow in the grand picture he had created, schemed, her refusal had never been planned in. For all his intelligence he hadn't counted in her free will. Several ideas came to mind to remedy the situation, the imperious curse being the simplest. But he didn't want her to be some mindless drone when they were together. And he meant that in more ways than one.

"What do you mean?" The tone he used was death incarnated.

"Exactly what I said. I won't be the one who watches you kill off muggle-borns. I won't be the one who is forced or cursed into participating in their murder. I can't do it. I won't do it." His mind scrambled to come up with possible solutions. But there wasn't any that involved his crusade. If he dropped it… _no_, he hadn't worked this hard for nothing.

"What do you want?" The question flew from his lips that curled as soon as he spoke them. He was changing his beliefs, letting go of his control for… another person. She would have to be brought to heel soon. His face-hardened.

"I can't change you Tom, so I won't try."

XXX

Avery had strict orders from his master. Retrieve the objective and present her to the Dark Lord. It was that simple but yet going to be so hard. He watched Marie throw some random ingredient into her cauldron and it sizzled successfully. The sound made him a little nervous. What was she making? A careful and as quiet as he could he darted out from the passage, hesitating briefly.

"Avery," she said, placing a finger on her wand that was sitting beside the cauldron on the table. He brought out his own, flicking it once. She collapsed.

XXX

There was chanting, she could have sworn there was going to be chanting. Candles flickered along the stonewall like shadow wraiths trying to eat her from the inside out. The old well known fear came back to relive it's existence in her gut. Her eyes opened groggily and the first thing she saw was _him. _It wasn't Tom anymore. Lord Voldemort was there.

"Tom," she said, her voice sounding hoarse. _How long had she been out?_ He crooked a finger in her direction. "I feel like jelly." She rested her head on the stone floor letting the cold cut into her skin. Hissing started as soon as her eyes fluttered close. "Stop it Tom." It stopped abruptly. "I know it's you."

"Come here, Marie," his voice was soft, venomous.

"No, Tom." She was _so _tired. Whatever Avery had done made her want to sleep for the rest of her life. It was the draught of sleep she realized somewhere far off in an abandoned corner of her brain. "I just want to go back to bed."

"Come here, Marie." There was an inflection in his voice this time.

"I don't want to –"

"_Marie_!" It took strength – too much strength in her opinion – to crawl across the floor and sit up straight. But that wasn't enough for him. "Kneel." The word triggered some hidden electricity in her mind. Parts started to kick start awake. Revamping it's self until she felt almost normal.

"Why?"

Tom's fingers lifted up her chin. "You will learn to obey me. Come here, Marie." It wasn't a request – it was a demand. Marie stood, taking the last few steps towards Tom, her heart racing at an alarming rate. He grabbed her wrist, drawing her forward. "_Kneel_." When she didn't right away there was a bending in her legs, completely unnatural.

"No." The word was so easy to say, so simple. Two-letters long. And it made him incredibly angry. She stood, shaking her head, heading straight for the exit. Halfway there she couldn't believe her luck. First she knew where she was actually going and no one had stopped her. Maybe Tom was going to let her go now. The thought nearly made her turn back around to kneel before him.

The hissing noise started up again, and then: "_Stop her_!" The arm of her robe snagged on something – someone had wrenched her robe arm backwards. It felt like a serious case of whiplash had ignited in her back. She pulled her sleeve back, a small noise emitting from the back of her throat when something sharp slashed her arm. Blood trickled down her arm, the red splash colored burgundy in the candlelight. "I said _stop_ her not _harm _her!" Somehow she managed to end up in the middle of a blur of bodies all blocking her way to the exit, draped in dark cloaks so she couldn't see which direction was which. It was frenzy. Chaos erupted until…

"_Leave us_!"

The death eaters stilled. They were like frozen evil statues until they all lined up in single file to drop to their knees to kiss Voldemort's hem. Her stomach lurched as she realized that was what Tom had wanted her to do. Every single one of them fled the dungeon their cloaks flying behind them.

Tom rounded on her almost immediately, his face contorted into a mass of fury. "_Marie_," he hissed. "Come _here_." There was no choice given in that tone. She came forward, cradling her arm. He took her sleeve, pressing his wand to her cut. A warm sensation hit her skin but she barely noticed it, instead she watched him heal her.

"I told you I won't stand by you," she said when he was finished. "I told you that I wouldn't – so why did you drag me here."

He was silent for a moment, staring directly into her eyes. "You will."

She yanked her arm out of his hold. "No, I won't."

"Yes, you will!" It was the first time he had ever yelled at her – ever lost his temper in such a _human _manner before. "_You will because I say you will_! And _that_ is the end of it!" He took grabbed her shoulders, shaking her harshly. "You _will_!"

"I WON'T!" His hold tightened. It only made her scream louder. "_I CAN'T WATCH YOU KILL PEOPLE! I CAN'T WATCH YOU MURDER CHILDREN AND TEAR A PART FAMILIES! I WON'T BE A PART OF TEARING MY FAMILY A PART, TWISTING MY UNCLE INTO AN UNKNOWABLE PERSON!"_ She was crying hysterically by the end, pulling on his robes, fighting an invisible demon that raged inside of him.

"Silence, Marie. _Silence _– "

"I came back to kill you," she said, interrupting him. "I came back to murder you, so you wouldn't lead my Uncle into killing my family. And I will kill you. You aren't the best, Tom, in the future. Albus Dumbledore was the greatest man the Wizarding world has ever known! You are – you will become nothing compared to him!" She pulled out her wand, poking it into his chest, her lips and fingers trembling.

She watched his eyes flicker down to her wand. And just as quickly she was thrown backwards into the wall. As fast as she was, he was the best and Marie knew that. She should have known that. The pain that slammed into her ribs when she hit the floor was blinding. Tears came faster with physical pain, she realized.

Over the course of three months she had thought she was going to die over a hundred – no a thousand times – and now was finally the moment. There was no fight left. "I'm done," she said, softly, getting louder. "I'm done. Do you hear me, Tom? I lost. You've proven I can't kill you. So kill me." She was pretty sure she looked like a hopeless mess, but this… this was the end.

"Get up," Tom whispered. "Get up. I want to hear the truth from your mouth." Marie didn't move, and she was pretty sure he hadn't expected her to. "Marie…"

"Kill me Tom." She curled into a ball on her side, preparing her body for the worst. "Just do it."

She heard him before she felt his hand on her back. Tom Riddle was kneeling beside her, his hand touching her face. "Look at me." He didn't wait for an answer, rolling her onto her back so that her face was looking directly up at him. "What do you want me to do? Tell me and I'll change –" He grimaced, touching his chest lightly. "I will – just stay with me."

"I hate you Tom," she muttered, reaching for his hand. "But I love you too and I don't know why." She started to cry again especially when he looked at her with that amount of disgust resting on his face. "Don't look at me like that."

He shut his eyes, grabbing at his chest like he was having a heart attack. "Like what?"

"Like you can't stand those words. Like my weakness disgusts you. I disgust you. I know you don't believe love exists – "

"You don't – " He inhaled sharply, letting out a moan of pain. " – disgust me." His body bent over in rigid pain and that was when he started to scream.


	11. Chapter 11

_He shut his eyes, grabbing at his chest like he was having a heart attack. "Like what?" _

_"Like you can't stand those words. Like my weakness disgusts you. I disgust you. I know you don't believe love exists – "_

_"You don't – " He inhaled sharply, letting out a moan of pain. " – disgust me." His body bent over in rigid pain and that was when he started to scream. _

**Chapter Ten**

In his whole entire existence at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Tom Riddle had never once been in the hospital wing. He'd never once visited, not feeling the need to see someone _sickly_. He cringed at the word. And never before had he been ill or… weak.

The matron shuffled between beds, passing his, already having come over and checked on his an hour earlier. Her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. She smiled sweetly in his direction as she passed and for the first time he hadn't managed to fake a charming smile back. Exhaustion was a funny thing…

His bones felt like rubber and his body was weak like a baby. But worst of all was the throbbing in his chest that never, despite what he did, never seemed to abate. It was almost as terrible as the searing pain he had endured three nights previous, but this hadn't gone away. Even when he slept… his slumber was infiltrated by dreams.

There was no magical cure to make him feel better. When he had first woken up, he had thought that the ache was… physical. And it was to a point; his heart pulsed with the knowledge that he had created his own problem. It wasn't until his _followers_ had come and visited him, their frantic worries over his state, that he realized they were not who he wanted to see at his bedside.

"Tom," a soft voice said kindly near the foot of his bed. Tom turned his head slowly; magnificent purple robes with fluorescent yellow stars splayed over the hems came into view.

Albus Dumbledore had treated him just like any other student – courteously and kindly but had never trusted him. They had never had contact alone besides those very few encounters after he'd opened the chamber and when he had came to tell him he was a wizard – that he was _special._ It hadn't been until recently that he realized that everyone at Hogwarts had some amount of special ability or they would not be here.

"I am going," said Dumbledore, adjusting his wizard's cap and robes before sitting in the chair residing alongside his bed. "To assume that you were not expecting me?"

"No sir," replied Tom, glad to finally have his respectful façade back.

"Ah… well, I hope you are feeling up to having a visitor at the moment."

Tom didn't say anything. He didn't even move to look back at the old man. His eyes were trained on the outlines of his feet underneath his blankets. The sneaking suspicion that if he looked Dumbledore in the eye the old man would read his mind – break into his thoughts.

"Yes, sir."

He could hear Dumbledore smile, the air brightened around him and Tom could envision those blue eyes sparkling. _Ridiculous old fool…_

_"Albus Dumbledore was the greatest man the Wizarding world has ever known! You are – you will become nothing compared to him!"_

Marie's words reverberated around his head like a muggle sports ball. What did _she _know! He flushed with anger even thinking about her arrogance to think that Dumbledore could ever compare to what he was _going _to become. Pain lacerated his chest again as his thoughts turned to…

"I was wondering, Tom, what had happened for you to have such extensive internal – " Dumbledore paused and for a second he thought he saw a flicker of something behind the old man's sapphire eyes. "Injuries…"

"I do not know, sir."

Dumbledore didn't move, his eyes intent on the side of Tom's face. It was, what felt like eternity to Tom, before Dumbledore stood, still staring down at him. "Well, good day then." He swept out of the cubicle, pausing before he left to add – "And I do hope you get better, Tom."

Maybe it was the extra twinkle behind his professor's eye that made him twist with unease. Tom Riddle had the varying feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what had happened to him. And he was happy it had.

XXX

Marie had snuck into the hospital wing, her heart beating rapidly and so loudly that she would have sworn that anyone could have heard it. She glanced down in the direction of the school's nurse's office. It was shut firmly. No one would hear his death.

A shiver ran down her spine as the words echoed inside her own head. This was it, the moment of truth. All her untimely speculation of whether she would be a killer would be put to the test in the next few seconds.

She took a deep breath and moved forwards, sprinting across the stone floor on her toes to quiet the noise. _Now or never, now or never, now or never, now or never…_ The words kept pounding in her head, over and over again. After she'd brought him to the hospital wing she'd developed a new plan. A plan that would solve all her problems. and afterwards she would devote her life to returning to the future. That was it. The way it had to be.

His bed was on the end; the curtains surrounding it were illuminated in the moonlit glow. It was a full moon tonight, she noted, how ironic. In certain cultures the full moon represented the presence and birth of new life. Her uncle had taught her that. With a pale, shaking hand, she gently pulled back the curtains and stepped inside the squared off "room".

Marie's breathe caught as she raised her wand and pointed it down at the sleeping figure.

Tom was almost – peaceful as he slept. His features were soft, not tight and angry or covered up with that calm mask. He was innocent in sleep. Vulnerable. Child-like. Her wand hand shook violently as she made that realization. She couldn't harm a child. Even one who would become the most evil man in the whole entire world? She had seen his cruelty firsthand and it had made her _want_ to stop him. But there was another side to him that was not the man who had masked himself as "Lord Voldemort".

_Oh sweet Merlin… _

A small sob escaped her chest as the tearing in the region of her heart continued to pain her. "A-Ava –"

Tom's eyes snapped open; he was always such a light sleeper. For a moment he looked groggy – unaware. But then his senses returned to him as he looked up at her, those sharp gray eyes watching her every move.

"Avada – " But Marie couldn't finish, her wand fell to the floor with a clatter. Tears flooded her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't kill him – Marie simply didn't possess the strength to kill the darkest wizard the world had never known.

Tom lay on the bed, completely still as he observed Marie's shaking form. Her wand had fallen after she had tried to perform the killing curse. He hadn't been scared – not for a moment. There was no chance that she would have murdered him. Not Marie. A possessive note crept into his own thoughts… _his _Marie.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so s-s-sorry…" She dropped to her knees beside his bed, laying her head on his left arm. The strands of her hair graced his skin like silk…

"Look at me," he commanded her. Old habits died hard… the expression finally had merit to him.

It was different to see his Death Eater's – his faithful followers, on their knees begging him for mercy. Marie was one person he did not want to see asking for his forgiveness. It made the constant ache in his chest worsen.

She glanced up, surprising him for once by obeying him. Her tawny eyes shining with fresh tears. "Tom… I have to tell you everything. I'm so sorry." He had already heard her story, though completely unbelievable as it was, it did fit everything. All her silly little slip-ups, her fear of him and the power he possessed.

"Hush," he murmured, pulling her closer towards him. Up off the floor and onto the bed. Another first for him happened, he comforted another living being as she sobbed, soaking his nightgown, into his chest.

It was several hours before she subsided, and one more before she fell asleep, clutching him like a blanket. The crying and sniffling of the weak children at the orphanage had always bothered him, but this… this was different. He stroked Marie's hair, holding her about the waist as tightly as possible. It was a lulling motion that eventually led to sleep…

XXX

The morning came – sun shining through the large windows of the Hospital Wing. It was, Tom thought as he came awake, a wonderful morning. And there were only so many moments when he could truly say that. He felt _complete_ somehow, well _you_ _bloody well should_, came the grimmer part of his brain, _after all your soul just got stitched back together. _He grimaced at the reminder of all his hard work being done for nothing. But now he would just have to start again, this time without Horcruxes.

Marie moved, burying her head deeper into the folds of his pajamas, mumbling something incoherent – well mostly incoherent, he _did _hear something that sounded a bit like "stupid tom". A smile lit his face, and though he supposed it was a crooked, twisted one, it was still a smile.

"Tom, m'boy," the voice startled him, but he didn't sit up. From previous experience waking Marie up was not a very smart thing to do. And Tom was nothing if not smart. "I heard you were in the hospital wing, didn't believe it myself until I could see it with my own eyes," Slughorn said, his bright tone caused Marie to shuffle uncomfortably in the bed.

Slughorn's eyes widened at the moving bed sheets, and for the first time in his life, Tom felt a dull flush begin to creep up his neck.

"Tom, where did I put my wand? I don't remember where I set it… and my robe… where's the rest of my robe." By the time she'd straightened herself out, found her wand, and unconsciously wrapped her more tightly around him did she notice Slughorn. He watched her blink – once – twice, and then she said:

"Hello, professor," she said, an awkward tone in her voice. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Slughorn seemed to have paled, all color erasing from his face as Marie wriggled around his bed, now searching for her shoes. "N-nor I you, Miss Adamms," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Nor I you."

"Well, I should be going now." She stood, re-adjusting her robes with a sweet smile, turning her charm onto the professor. "Have a lovely day, professor." She turned to Tom, leaning down to give him a gentle kiss. "I'll be back in an hour to bring you something else besides the Hospital food." And she left, a slight sway to her hips as she went.

It was all he could do not to laugh.


End file.
